


I'll Always Come Back-I'm Sorry

by GasterFan5



Series: Gravity Falls [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Stanuary (Week 2), Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:58:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasterFan5/pseuds/GasterFan5
Summary: After leaving the fight between him and his brother, Stan gets a postcard to come back. He does.





	I'll Always Come Back-I'm Sorry

Banned. Shit, Stanley was banned from PA. Here he was, now in Washington, banned from the majority of the eastern side of the USA. There had to be a fancier way of saying that, only Stanley couldn’t care less. Stanley woke up to find himself in an alley, coated in blood and wearing new bruises, and started walking around lifelessly. He found a telephone booth and stopped, eyeing it from the other side of the street.

Maybe he should contact Ford before he got attacked again-God knows wherever he was in Washington was a murder city-and decided on a call.

One phone call. Stan didn’t give a damn at this point on who it’d contact, giving away his location, or other bullshit. He just needed to call Ford one more time.

_Ring, ring._

_Hello? You’ve reached Stanford Pines._ Stan sighed in relief, about to hang up right there, when he spoke again.

_Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to stop calling._ The words stung like a stab in the back, and he sighed.

“Right, no, I get that Ford. You have a nice day,” Stanley responded without thinking.

“Stanle-?!” Ford started, hung up before finishing the sentence.

On top of all this, he had gotten a stupid postcard the day of his eviction, telling him to come to Oregon. Stan drove halfway across the country to get there, and he managed to get banned in the majority of the states he went through. Now here he was in Washington, walking briskly in the cold morning.

You know…maybe he should take a rest. The thought left less than a second after forming. _Nah. Last time I came I was half dead and Ford didn’t give a shit. Besides, it stopped me from fighting back and making a grave decision._ Stan’s car broke down, and he had finally gotten it to work-but allas, where was it? He was determined-ish-to get to Ford with something besides a death note. Stan chuckled, it wasn’t like Ford really cared if he came dead or alive, but, ya know, it was something in his own mind to have that decency.

There it was! Walking over faster, not too fast, as to not draw attention, of course, he took out his keys-thank God they didn’t take that-and started up the car. Hearing the engine made a flood of relief spill through him, and he drove off.

_Stanford, wherever you are, I’m coming._

Hours. _Hours._ It had taken hours to get into Oregon, and he had stopped only to get gas. Stan saw many things on the road-but seriously, was that a gnome? He must be getting close, then. All the hallucinations from a lack of sleep…was that one too, or was that real? God, did it matter? Stan was gonna see Ford again.

I mean, the last time he saw him was…the incident.

Yeah, Ford told him to get the hell out, they fought a bit, and Stan left. Now, Stan assumed, he wanted that journal back. Tears fell down from his face, spilling onto the steering wheel. God, he was such a screw up.

Shit. Tree. He turned fast, skirting to the side to face both sides of the street. Breathing hard, he looked up.

The tree was gone.

Damnit. Pulling the car back, he turned to face the right way and drove off.

Crap. A-what was that? Floating triangle with an eye? Ahh!!!! _SKIRT._ Facing the side, in a ditch. Darn, looking back…it was still there, flickering into the distance and vanishing.

Didn’t matter. Reverse, get out of the ditch. Only 50 more miles. He could get there in 45 minutes. His head hurt, his car was broken and alight. Getting out of the car, Stan pushed it to be right-side up. Good. Now he just needed to get it outta the ditch.

Pushing it upward, it rolled up the hill and situated correctly on the road. _Shit_ that hurt _really bad._ With a shrug, Stan limped into the car and drove off.

Three hours. Three damned hours!!! He assumed it was because of the many..“breaks” he took, and the…“road blocks”. But seeing Ford’s house made it all OK again.

Stan took a deep breath, pulling into the driveway-there was no driveway, stupid, stupid hallucinations-and got out. His headache grew, but he stuffed his bloody hands in his pockets and examined the car. The red was scraped in many places, showing a silver, and the glass from the windows was shattered in the back and sides. The front had thousands of pieces, but yet managed to stay. The roof was dented inwards, and blood coated the driver’s seat.

Looking back once, Stan limped to the door and knocked. _Can’t get much worse._

“Heya, Stanley!” It wasn’t Ford, another hallucination appearing as Ford and flickering into nothing.

He waited, knocking again after a moment.

The real Ford showed up to the door, looking him up and down with a crossbow in his hands, and sighing. “You know why I brought you here. Give the journal back. Also I need to look over that burn, just..make myself feel a little better,” Ford said, holding out his hand tiredly.

Stan looked up, nodding and walking in. He placed the journal on the table, then stood around awkwardly.

“Well, take off your shirt. I don’t have all day,” Ford commented, waiting with his arms folded. Stan sighed, pulling his jacket off and his shirt to show the many scars littering his body and the open wounds from both the car crash and that recent attack. He’d forgotten about it, too tired to really argue at this point.

“S-Stan? Are, err, are you…dear God what _happened_?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Look, the burn’s fine, and so I’ll be outta your hair.” Stan kicked the floor, putting his shirt back on. No, the burn wasn’t fine-it was probably infected, to be fair-but he couldn’t stay here when Ford was like…this. Too caring. Too protecting.

Not normal. He should be cruel, un-noticing, hateful…why was he so nice?

“Stanley, are you-are you homeless?” Stan froze, staring at the ground, then shifted and smiled.

“Course not.” A wave of relief for Ford. “I got my car,” he finished, breaking all of the reassurance Ford had.

“Stanley…” Ford sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses upward. “That’s not really a home. Look if you ever need somewhere to stay for a bit, I’m always here.”

“Nah, I’m alright. I’ve made it this far,” Stan replied, not mentioning the fact his car was in shambles. You know, maybe he should stay…No, didn’t want to burden Ford.

Ford squinted, going over to the window and looking at the car. “Looks like you’ve literally gotten in a crash.” He threw his hands in the air, turning back to Stan. “That’s not the definition of alright. You know what, you’re staying here-at least this week.” Stan gaped.

“Why do you get to decide what happens to me?” he asked, annoyed and glaring.

“Because it’s my house, you’re my brother, and I’m not letting you go.” Ford replied sternly, shaking his head. “should’ve seen this coming,” Stan heard him mutter under his breath. Stan sighed, watching Ford hold out his hand. He took it and followed him to what would be his room.

It was dark, but with the lights on he could instantly tell it was Ford’s spare room, as it was littered with papers that he hadn’t bothered to clean, and dust coated all surfaces. Ford frowned, closing the door.

“Err, I suppose I need to clean that room…guess you can have the blow-up mattress and sleep in my room,” he muttered, walking over to the air mattress and starting to inflate it.

Stan stood there, watching him with interest. “Sorry it’s not very comfortable..” he heard Ford say, who trailed off.

Stan laughed. “Buddy, this’d be the most comfortable thing I slept on in..” he counted. 18…they were like, 35.. “Seventeen years, I wanna say?” Stan questioned, recounting. “Yeah. Somethin like that.”

Ford frowned in concern, looking at Stan for a minute then unplugging the inflatable and picking it up, placing it in his room beside his own bed. Ford put some sheets on it, then a heavy blanket overtop of that, and a pillow.

“Did you already eat?” Ford couldn’t help but ask.

“Err, no. It’s OK though, I’ll be fine,” Stan replied reassuringly. Ford wasn’t buying it, taking out his phone.

“Is pizza good?”

Stan’s eyes widened. Food. “Yeah. But look I don’t-”

“Okay, let me order, then,” Ford cut him off with, starting the order. Stan couldn’t help but smile.

…

The two of them ate, Stan got some sort of a shower in, Ford cleaned that burn-which he commented was for _sure_ infected-and they hopped into bed.

Stan smiled, sitting on the blow-up.

He’d travelled so far, so long…

It was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> That was....eh. Kinda later than before, but I tried! Hope you like it. ^^


End file.
